


233 - Body Pos First Time

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, body pos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “reader losing her virginity to Van? Not super smutty stuff, but like cutesy, body pos maybe?”





	233 - Body Pos First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Yo. Virginity is a social construct. Fucked twenty people today? Get it, friend. Never want to touch another body in your life? Cool af. Waiting till ya find ya soulmate? Groovy. Don’t think about it much at all? Rad. Your body. Your choice. Whatever you want to do with it and however you want to define it is up to you. Now. Back to thinking about Van McCann’s stupidly long fingers.

There were a million things that kept Van at a distance. He was a year older, seventeen to your sixteen. He dropped out of school while you stayed. Your parents’ nervousness of your friendship with him. Catfish and the constant touring and prioritising of the band over everything else. Van’s carefree and wild nature; a stark contrast to your calculated and cautious one. The tragedy was that none of that mattered to Van. He had followed you around since you met as children. He had loved you like you had loved him. Maybe it wasn’t proper love, just teenage crushes that felt like the absolute end of the world. Regardless, all the things that kept Van at a distance wouldn’t have really meant anything if you hadn’t have let them.

Most people assumed you were dating. They’d all stopped questioning anything Van did long ago, so it was never an issue that you were so different. Platonically and innocently tangled up in bed sheets ironed by your mother, listening to Bernie’s vinyls on your big brother’s record player, watching Van watch you, you had never felt so same. So identical. He was just like you and you were just like him.

“You’re killin’ me, love,” he’d say whenever you’d only let him kiss your cheek, or demand a stupid piggy back instead of hand holding, or scoff and roll your eyes whenever he joked about being a proper couple. Honestly, the only thing keeping you and Van from being Y/N And Van was you.

…

Arriving late to a Catfish show because your mum had to drop you and she insisted on taking the long way, you stalked the room before making your way over to the guys. In no other aspect of your life could you be that confident, but you’d been visiting them in venues since you were thirteen. Van was talking to a couple of people, clearly flirting with the girls. They loved him right back. Strangely, unexpectedly, it made you happy. He deserved someone that would give in, someone that would drop to their knees for him. Not you.

That night, in the back of the van sitting between amps and guitar cases, you told Van he could never have you.

“I won’t get jealous or anything. And if you get a girlfriend we can stop hanging out as much, if that’s what she wants. I just… I don’t think I can give you want you want,” you whispered, glancing over your shoulder to check that Bernie and Benji in the front weren’t listening. Van was looking at you, confused more than anything else.

“Wait. You’re breaking up with me?”

“Van, we’re not a thing, really,”

“Yeah we are. I love you,” he replied, voice cracking. He wouldn’t cry though. He never did; he would just go quiet and stormy. Van waited for you to say it back but quickly realised he’d be waiting for a long time. “What do ya think I want?”

You chewed your lip and felt your face flush red. You couldn’t even say the word, let alone bring it to life.

“The things you sing about and stuff, you know? You’re seventeen and got all these pretty girls followin’ you around now. I just…”

“Fuck, Y/N!” he yelled.

“Van!” Bernie yelled back from the front.

“Sorry,” Van replied. The hypocrisy of Bernie telling anyone off for swearing wasn’t acknowledged. Van looked back to you. “You think I should be fuckin’ girls?” 

If your teeth wrestled any harder with your lip, there would be blood. The only other movement you could manage was a small shrug paired with a tiny nod of the head. Van made a sound that was a sad combination of a huff, scoff, and sigh.

And that was that.

The friendship was maintained and nothing changed for a long time. Van was definitely the type of person that carried on no matter what. Then, like you wanted and like he secretly did too, he started sleeping with other girls. He wouldn’t talk to you about it but you overheard the conversations with the guys and could see it in the way it changed his lyrics and walk.

It was like that for years. You turned eighteen, then nineteen, and were almost twenty. Van had dated a string of girls, all of which you thought were wonderful. You were entirely convinced that you had always loved Van as a best friend. Your lack of jealousy was evidence. Your love for his girlfriends was too. Nobody else thought the same; behind your back, they’d laugh at how well you’d repressed your emotions and how likely it was that Van muttered your name into the necks and bodies of the girls he was experimenting with. There were bets on if one of you would break. Explode. Be begged to be put back together by the other.

…

“Can I ask you somethin’ a bit personal?” Van asked, swinging on his chair. You were on a balcony of a bar in the middle of the city. It was late and nobody else was out there. You looked at him as he tapped his cigarette into the ashtray. When you nodded, he continued. “You’ve not slept with anyone, have you?” The question didn’t catch you off guard because you’d been expecting it since the day you broke his heart. It wasn’t really a question anyway. He knew the answer. You just looked at him with a smirk. He nodded for you. “Why?”

Another expected question, but a significantly more valid one. You weren’t sure why. Normally people waited to lose their virginity because they were hoping to find their true love, because of traditional marriages, or out of fear of failure. None of those were applicable to you. So, you shrugged.

“I don’t know,”

“Maybe you just don't… like, aren’t into it?”

“Like, asexual or something? Thought about it, but it’s not like that. I just… yeah, I don’t know.”

He dropped it and you were left reminded that he still thought about you in that context. Keeping him away had done nothing to stop him wanting you.

…

The morning after your twentieth birthday, you woke up in bed with Van. He was awake and on your phone doing something. He watched you sit up with a mocking smile on his face.

“Fuck off,” you mumbled.

“How do you feel?”

You shot him a look that answered the question. It wasn’t unusual to wake up in the same bed as Van when he wasn’t seeing someone. He didn’t like being alone, not even in sleep. It also wasn’t unusual for him to play with your phone. His own was void of fun apps or much at all.

When you went to shower you discovered Van had bet you to it. How long had he been awake for? Clean and filled with dry toast and pain killers, you returned to bed. You noticed the curls around his face then, the ones that told you his hair had been recently wet.

Van snuggled in under the blankets with you. Watching each other like you used to, there was a pain in your stomach you mistook as hunger for only a second.

“I know what you’re thinkin’ about,” Van said.

“Doubt it,”

“Me,”

“Not everyone thinks about you all the time, Van. God. Such an ego,” you replied, reaching out to poke his cheek. He grinned.

“You do.”

You shook your head and tried to think of a subject to change the conversation to. Motherfucker was right though.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said in a forced casual tone, “I think about you all the time too,”

“Why would that make me feel better?”

He shrugged, happy that he got a reaction from you. “Dunno… Guess I’m just sayin’ that nothing’s changed for me. When you sort yourself out, I’ll be here." 

You hated hearing someone, anyone, say ‘when you sort yourself out’ but you couldn’t be angry at Van. He wasn’t speaking in lies or out of malice. 

Van rolled out of bed and made breakfast. The morning moved on and the mood returned to its regular state. Not today then, you thought to yourself.

…

"Van? We’ve talked about this. Time zones,” you mumbled into your phone a little after midnight.

“We’re in the same time zone. I’m home, kind of. Um. Need a favour, Y/N,” he replied. You could hear in his voice that something was funny but he was prepared for you to not think so.

“What?”

“So, you know how I sold my place ‘n stay in airbnbs mostly?”

“Get to the point, Van,”

“This one was all organised to leave the key so I could come late and everythin’ but I can’t find it. Like, I’m exactly where it shows in their little photo instructions and they ain’t answering their phone. So, uh, can you come get me? You’re the closest out of everyone,”

“How close is close?” you asked, rolling out of bed and pulling ugg boots on.

It took twenty minutes to drive to Van. He was sitting on the curb smoking his way through a pack. You said nothing as he threw his two bags into the back, then fell heavily into the front passenger seat. Van’s head rested back and his eyes closed immediately. He was tired, too tired to even talk. But, Van would always be Van and he would always love you. His arm reached out to let his hand rest gently on the back of your neck as you drove. His fingers softly scratched through your hair. It felt so good you would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for the prickling heat rolling across your body as a result of being close to him again.

As soon as you were home, you went straight back to bed. It was almost one in the morning and Van knew his way around yours. He could make tea or have a shower if he wanted. He would have to decide if he was going to crash on your couch. He could pull out the sofa bed easily. Alternatively, he could crawl in with you. Your money and your hopes were on that, despite wishing the latter wasn’t.

You were still wide awake when Van jumped onto your bed and sighed dramatically. When you didn’t respond, he cleared his throat loudly.

“Shut up,” you said, voice muffled by the pillow your face was buried in.

Van chuckled. “Thank you for savin’ me. Appreciate it,”

“You do know that I know I wasn’t the closest. We literally drove past Mick’s house. His lights were on and everything,”

“Really?”

You rolled over and looked at Van’s stupid grinning face. Of course he knew.

“You’re just lucky I don’t have work tomorrow,”

“Just lucky I know you,” he replied quickly, pulling you close. You protested the movement, pressing your hands to his chest and resisting with a giggle. As you play fought, Van easily winning, he continued. “Just missed you. Got frustrated about the airbnb and wanted you, you know?” You made a high pitched 'mmm-hmm’ sound as you tried to get your wrists free from his grip. “Think this is the point you’re meant to tell me you missed me too,”

“No,”

“No?! Fuck, Y/N. Don’t know why I keep trying. You’re killing me,” Van said with a laugh that hid a lot of things.

You stopped fighting, so Van let you go. Staying close to him, your bodies pressed together, you rested your head on the pillow and watched him follow you down. Sharing the pillow, you watched each other and you thought of how much easier it would be if he could read your mind. If you kiss me, I’ll kiss back, would launch Van into action. You wouldn’t have to explain anything, he’d just understand. He’d know what you needed and wanted, and you’d get it easily. Alas, with all the different types of magic in the world, mind reading still wasn’t one.

Van pressed his forehead to yours. If he couldn’t see it in you and you couldn’t verbalise it, you’d have to try to make your body communicate. Your fingers slowly dragged down his arm until they found his hand. He took yours before you could take his. Van’s eyes closed tight, but yours stayed open. He was too close to read properly, but you felt more in control that way.

With your leg curling over his, Van wrapped the arm under you around you tighter. His hips pressed into yours harder. Your movements were heavy and slow, matching his. Bodies tangled together, unwilling to be any other way, there was no room for progression. Van’s hands couldn’t find their way to any other part of you, nor yours to his. It didn’t matter though. Already your entire body was buzzing; your spine ached and you had to work to stop your teeth from chattering with anticipation. You could feel Van against your burning thigh through his underwear. You were definitely on the same page.

Van moved his head from yours, dragging his lips along your jaw and to your neck. “I would’ve waited for you,” he said. His breath was hot on your skin and his sentence was punctuated with a full stop kiss. He could feel the vein in your neck bubbling with fast paced blood under his lips. “Should’ve waited,”

“I told you not to,” you whispered back.

“Yeah, never do what I’m told though.”

A truth about Van, except for two exceptions - you and his father.

“Are you gonna start now?”

Van’s head lifted and the dimpled grin on his face meant he liked your question.

“Guess it depends on what you tell me to do,” he replied. Van sitting up a little gave room to move. You stayed still as his fingers slowly slid under the hem of your shirt and spidered across your tummy. A voice in your head told you to push his hands away from anywhere that wasn’t just skin and bone. Anywhere flawed with scars or stretch marks or hair. Another voice told you otherwise. A voice saying out loud that they loved you. Van’s voice. “You’re so soft,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss the skin just below your belly button. It was cute and sweet and good.

“I’m not going to tell you to do anything,”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he smirked.

“Don’t even know what I would tell you to do, you know?”

Van’s mischievous expression dissolved into one of understanding. He nodded. A second went by while he thought. You took his still hand and put it back on the exposed skin of your stomach. Slowly, you pushed it up, up, hoping he’d take the queue and run.

His head went back to the crook of your neck and he kissed more lightly than you’d have anticipated. His hands worked more carefully than you’d have anticipated too. It took him longer to kiss your lips than either of you had anticipated. In the millions of lazy daydreams and hot night dreams of you, Van had always imagined the first thing he would do was kiss your lips hard. He imagined rolling tongues and you imagined mashing teeth; both were accurate predictions. When he finally shifted position and rubbed his nose against yours, your lips collided in an inevitable moment.

And that was that.

Inch by inch, you let Van explore. Your heart beat fast with nervousness and your skin was alive with burning pins and needles. He cooled it down with kisses and a strange habit of licking then blowing on the wetness. You’d giggle each time and he’d look up at you with sparkling eyes that would always, always dazzle you. 

It wasn’t paralysingly awkward. It didn’t hurt. Van made a concerned face when you were surprised at that. “Think that whole pain this is like, made up as an excuse for being terrible in bed an’ not caring 'bout the girl,” he said. Van’s accidental insight into the social world was one of your favourite things about him. Its place on the list though, was taken by the length of his fingers and his neediness to hear you make “that dead cute squeaky sound” again. He’d work at it all night and all day if he had to, if you let him. And of course, you’d let him. You’d never deny him of anything again.

There were a million things that could have kept Van at a distance from you, but none of them did. He was born to be your first, and while you weren’t his, you’d certainly be the final person he’d ever even want to touch. He loved you like there would be no tomorrow, no sunrise, no time like the present. Every night was a celebration and a reason to find the familiar curves and angles of each other’s bodies. Y/N And Van had a nice ring to it anyway, and Benji was stoked to win the bet you’d be together before you turned twenty-one.


End file.
